Perfect
by lanesummerland
Summary: *crisscolfer RPF* Chris and Darren were married on April 25th, 2015, spending 40 wonderful years together. But now, it's 2060, and Chris has been alone for 5 years. How does he cope?


_Hey, guys! I am still alive, haha. I'm not really sure if you're supposed to post RPF on here, but I've seen a lot of it, so yeah! Have some crisscolfer! There's a manip I made to go along with it, but I can't figure out how to paste it! :(_

_(You can also find this and other RPF's on my 'it-could-happen' account!)_

* * *

**Perfect.**

* * *

_April 25__th__, 2060_

Chris is unmoving in his bed, listening to the morning rain pelt against his window. He _hates_ today, hates that he has to spend it alone. This is how it's been for the last 5 years, and he doesn't believe what everyone says. It's _not_ getting any easier. If anything, it's excruciatingly painful waking up without Darren's legs tangled in his own. Without Darren's arms wrapped securely around his waist. Without the heat of Darren's body to keep him warm when the air conditioning gets a little _too_ chilly, but neither of them have the energy to get up and fix it.

They laid here for 4 decades. They shared kisses and laughs and fears and secrets and tears and all that's in between right in this very spot. Chris runs his fingers over the subtle dips in the mattress, almost as if feeling the dips in Darren's skin, but just almost. He sighs, bones betraying him due to age, and wills his head off of the pillow. He stalls at the edge of the bed and reaches for his glasses. They're old, scratched. He really should get a new pair. Plus, Darren always made fun of them. No matter how many times Chris went to have them readjusted, they still sat crooked on the bridge of his nose. He giggles at the memory.

_Memories_. Suddenly, he recalls the scrapbook sitting, dusty, on the shelf. He glares at it, wondering if he can actually open it this year. He sucks in a shaky breath and brings the thick, burgundy book down onto his lap. Chris thumbs over the spine, worn and weak, much like himself. Biting his lip, he turns to a random page.

Of course. Of _fucking _course that's where he'd land. It's a polaroid photo of their first breakfast together as husbands, and the fire surging through his torso is so bad, he seriously believes he's having a heart attack. The photo's stained and practically ancient, but Darren had gone a little overboard with the whole 'vintage' look to begin with. Chris shuts his eyes. He can hear a muffled noise, similar to someone placing their ear against seashell and listening to the ocean. It's becoming louder, clearer. And then, his mind is taking him back to that spring sunrise.

* * *

_"Ow, goddammit!" _

_*CRASH*_

_ "You stupid piece of fucking shit, stay UP there!"_

_Chris walks into the kitchen, wiping the sleep from his puffy face._

_ "Darren, honey, I'm afraid to ask, but what on *earth* are you doing? It's not even 7AM yet."_

_He's standing, precariously, on a wobbly ladder and trying to position something on top of the cabinets. _

_ "It's 6:59, Mr. Technical, but I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to get this set up," Darren responds, tongue sticking out in concentration. _

_ "And what, exactly, are you setting up?"_

_ "It-FUCK-it's a camera!"_

_ "Uh-huh, I see. Is there a reason you're basically hanging a camera from our ceiling? Wait-is that…where did you even get that thing?" Chris inquires around a yawn._

_ "So many questions! Can't I just surprise you for once? And I ordered it from this really cool website. It's digital, but it'll immediately print your pictures, like a polaroid!"_

_ "I knew I was marrying a dork," quips Chris. "Also, if you wanted to surprise me, you prooobably shouldn't have started an earthquake of pots and pans in here."_

_Darren pouts;_

"_Well, I didn't know I was marrying such an ungrateful turdbucket!" _

"_I'm a turdbucket, yeah? That's a new one. I'm offended!"_

"_Good!" Darren shouts, finally climbing down from the ladder. "Now, kiss me."_

_Chris pulls his husband close to his chest;_

_ "Rude *and*_ _demanding. This isn't what I signed up for."_

_ "Such a shame, really," says Darren, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to Chris' chapped lips. "You would've much rather had that Olympic swimmer. Hell, I don't blame you. He's a lot taller than me."_

_Chris scoffs and playfully slaps at the other man;_

_ "I like my guys short. Doesn't take them as long to reach my-"_

_ "WHOA, alright, save that kinda talk for the bedroom. This marriage has clearly brought out the real Christopher, and I'm not sure it's what *I* signed up for!"_

_ "Oh, hush. You know you love it."_

_ "True. Very true," Darren replies._

_ "You still haven't told me *why_* _you put a camera on top of our cabinets," Chris states, wiping flecks of dust from Darren's white shirt._

_A sly smile pulls at the corners of Darren's mouth as he walks towards the stove. An empty pot is sitting there, and he grabs the spoon next to it. _

_ "To commemorate this moment, obviously!" he yells, thrusting the spoon in the air like he's just won some epic battle. _

_Brow raised, Chris questions, "…this moment *being*?" It's much too early for his brain to process such shenanigans. _

_ "Our __first breakfast together as a married couple, _duuuh_!" replies Darren, shoulders beginning to slouch and forehead creasing with disappointment because Chris has yet realize his fantastic plan. _

_Chris lets out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes fondly;_

_ "Are we going to commemorate _every_ first?"_

_ "Know what? You're not allowed to ask any further questions. You're gonna shut that pretty face of yours and enjoy the fucking breakfast I made. Stood here slaving over a hot stove for hours."_

_ "Yeah. I can tell," Chris mocks, quite aware that there's no food in sight._

_ "Shhhh, use your imagination. After all, you *are* a 'best-selling author!'" Darren retorts with a wink. _

_Reluctantly, Chris shuffles over next to his goof of a husband;_

_ "Is this good enough for you?" he asks._

_ "Perfect," Darren answers, skin tingling at the sensation of Chris' warm lips on his cheek. He grips the remote that triggers the camera's shutter in his hand;_

_ "Ready?"_

_ "3."_

_ "2."_

_ "1."_

* * *

The rain's still falling. The air conditioning's still a little _too_ chilly. Chris is still alone.

"Perfect," he whispers, but it's uncomfortably loud as it reverberates off of the walls, and he desperately hopes Darren can hear him.

"Thank you, sweetheart. You were perfect."


End file.
